


Tear You Apart

by KiraNightshade44



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark and Stormy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Halloween, One Shot, Reincarnation, Songfic, Soulmates, Suave Kylo Ren, Supernatural Elements, feisty rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraNightshade44/pseuds/KiraNightshade44
Summary: “What an unusual name,” the man replied, his voice deep and slightly artless in its mid-western inflection. But she liked his voice too. Not quite a drawl, but definitely not from the city.“Aren't you going to tell... me... your…?” she trailed off, her expression softening around the edges the longer she looked into his eyes.They were glittering again.This fic is dedicated to the lovely Fleetmoodmac - thank you for keeping the inspiration alive, darling! <3
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Tear You Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleetmoodmac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetmoodmac/gifts).



> Happy Halloween everyone!!!
> 
> Okay, so for some insane reason I decided I didn't have enough to do this week, what with starting a new, chaotic job, volunteering and you know, trying to like feed myself and shit like a normal damned adult. So I went ahead and wrote an entire fic in one night just in time for Halloween. Hope it's not complete trash (or at least, that it IS trash in all the best ways). It's a one-shot, meant to be ambiguous and enigmatic.

_Maybe this is danger and you just don’t know._

  
  
  


**_Paris. October 31, 1857._ **

We met when the trees were full riot red, under a star-speckled sky. 

People were dancing, their faces painted and sparkly scarves in their hair. Vagabonds of their own creation, defiant of the opulent wealth of the bourgeoisie. They wore gilded fairy wings, glittery capes, kohl mascara. Some wore nothing but body paint and whimsical top hats. The sky was pink and orange with a picturesque Parisian sunset. 

I saw you standing under a cherry blossom tree, flower petals in your hair. You were high, I was high, and the night was all thundering pulses and sweet, tangy copper. My cheeks were glowing, freshly crimson and skin all succulent warmth. Borrowed and never returned. 

I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. You had flowers in your hair, and stars in your eyes. I think I might have put them there, those darkly shining stars. There, just for me. 

That was almost two hundred years ago. 

Now, you are buried in a rotting coffin, lost amongst the masses. All the stars have gone out. It’s just me here, in this black space. Sometimes, I wish I could have gone with you, but I was not there when they took you. I wish to God I had been. 

You were always the brave one, Rhylen. My brave little Romani, free-spirited and too fragile for this world. I see your face everywhere. Reflections of my gravest failing. 

Maybe, now, I can be brave for you too. 

I am close, so close I can almost smell the vanilla of your perfume and the dusky scent of your skin. Even though you cannot hear me, I will continue to speak to you, so that I might regift you these heady memories, in whatever version of you I can find. So that I might hear your laughter again, like that night under the stars, our fingers intertwined and our hearts molded as one. 

You would not recognize me now. You would not recognize this world, either. 

The cogs have broken down, one by one, and the lights in the sky are no longer shimmering, pretty things. They are street lamps and sickly lilac pollution in the night sky. They are addict’s delight, rough poison rushing through broken veins. I taste it almost every night, on these sullen street corners. Ash in my mouth. 

I never wanted to find myself here, combing through the underworld for you, but I won’t stop. I can’t, not until I find you again. I promised you and… One day, soon, you will remember. I’ll recite all the stories my mother once told me, all those old legends and tales you loved so much. I’ll put those stars in your eyes again. 

Until that day, I will wear them for you. I am coming, Rhylen. I am almost there. 

Love B.

*

_You pray it all away but it continues to grow._

  
  


**_New York City. October 31, 2020._ **

The bar was rundown. 

Sour beer and musty sweat permeated over the patrons. Latex and sticky lace. Sodden polyester, sheer nylon. Exaggerated make up and the luscious curves of barely-legal asses hanging out of short dresses. Neon lights strobed to the ear-shattering bass. This was all a dress rehearsal, a slick, fumbling dance to an age-old drumbeat. 

Rey hated Halloween. 

She downed another shot of vodka when no one was looking, though truth be told she did not really care who saw her. The burn down her throat did little to distract her from her misery. She had to be at least partially smashed if she was expected to deal with drunk college kids. On Halloween, of all damned days. 

The counter of the bar was chipped under her elbows. Splintering. She leaned on it, waiting for the next trashed college kid to slur their order at her. At her back, the dusty rows of spirits were greasy, the neon sign buzzing a tired tune. The music was atrocious, some flavour of the minute belting out a deeply autotuned mix about how this was the night, the greatest night of their lives to the varied indifference of the bar’s riving, intoxicated patrons. 

She had already seen enough slutty nurses and busty zombies tonight to last a lifetime.

Normally, Rey could tune it all out. She worked at Trapper’s full time and while the tips were good, and the inconspicuous bulldog of a bouncer, Carl, ensured none of the patrons smacked her ass, or tried to accost her in the stockroom, a career as a barkeep was not exactly what she had in mind when she moved to the big city. 

Actor’s school, Broadway and big shining spotlights. She had aspirations. A true, untapped talent for the screen. 

Of course, no one would ever see it. 

She flunked Julliard in her first year and her bills stacked up quickly. It was this or hooking on the streets. Choices, choices. 

“Another, please.”

Rey stiffened and looked up from her grumbling glare at the dirty wooden floor that had probably last had a passing acquaintance with a mop sometime during the Mesozoic Era. It was the voice, she decided later on. Pulling at some faint memory in the back of her mind, tugging her along some hidden gravity well. 

His voice. 

Deep and smooth, like scotch and velvet. Something that caressed across your skin before reaching your eardrums. Something that was not fit for this bar and this gaudy show tunes of a night. 

But fuck, if the voice was something, it was nothing compared to the man it belonged to. 

He sat alone at the end of the bar, wearing a simple navy blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, black dress shoes and black pants. His hair was the most noticeable feature, to start with. Black as pitch, glossy, wavy. To his shoulders. 

Rey did not usually like long hair on a man, but it suited him. A lot. 

He looked like he should be sitting in one of those stuffy lounges lawyers frequent, where the drinks are the price of her pay cheque. Not here, on this ungodly night, where the floors were so sticky that your shoes almost came away with it. His age was difficult to guess under the pulsating lights, but after a moment of looking at him she placed him somewhere in his mid-thirties. The faint lines around his mouth and across his forehead were almost invisible, but she caught them under the unforgiving neon lights. He was a great deal closer to her age than any of the patrons tonight anyway. 

She stepped closer to where he was sitting, wincing when a drunken girl stumbled past him and almost knocked his shoulder. Somehow, though, at the last second, the girl seemed to right herself before she collided into him. Like she had been given the smallest nudge away from him. 

“What can I get you?” she asked him, shouting to be heard over the music. 

He raised his glass and though he did not smile, his eyes seemed to shimmer at her with friendly warmth. “Dealer’s choice.”

He spoke so lowly, she should not have been able to hear him over the music. But somehow she did. 

Almost against her will, she smiled back at him, her sour mood all but forgotten. There was something about his eyes that made her feel lighter, yet paradoxically whole. A familiarity of strange kinship, dusting over her skin and making her breath shaky. Quivering. His thin smile grew, lips closed carefully over his teeth. And what lips he had, too. Plush, expressive. Shifting with his thoughts as he stared back at her…

 _Woah. Okay._ _Easy there tiger_ , Rey thought to herself. She was dismayed by how fast her heart was beating - from just a fucking smirk, mind you. _Just get him his drink and move on to the next person._

“I’m sure I will like whatever you choose.” He inclined his head at her and she almost choked on her own spit. 

Right. He was a customer. He was waiting for his order. What the fuck was wrong with her? 

She turned to the bottles and abruptly felt entirely too self-conscious. He wanted her to choose his drink for him? He looked like a model, or an actor. Someone beautiful and famous and far too important to visit a shithole like this. How the fuck she could begin to guess what he might like?

“I’m not picky. Something dark will do.”

Rey peeked at him over her shoulder, frowning slightly when she realized she could still hear him perfectly. The music did not drown out the deep richness of his voice. It seemed that his voice could cut through any din, no matter how raucous. 

“Okay,” she replied just as quietly, though she could barely hear herself. 

That did not seem to matter to him, though. She could tell he heard her just fine. He smiled again, crookedly, with a dash of mischief that suddenly made him seem younger to her. 

She felt herself blush from the top of her head to her toes. 

Ooof, okay. He had a nice smile, so what? Many people have a nice smile. Just pour him his damned drink and stop gawking at him like an idiot. 

As Rey returned with his drink, a dark aged scotch that seemed to have his name written all over it, she looked up into those beguiling eyes once again and stopped short. Red light splashed across his face, then blue, then purple. She experienced a faint wave of dizziness. Almost like deja-vu, but not quite as potent.

He took the glass from her hand, his cool fingers brushing against her skin, and she wondered if tonight did not have to be such a write-off after all. 

She decided her name would be Jade if he bothered to ask. Something vaguely exotic and just trashy enough that he would not get the wrong idea and get all clingy on her. If she played her cards right, she would be taking Mr Tall Dark and Utterly Fuckable home with her tonight. For a good, serviceable lay, hopefully. He looked like he would know exactly what he was doing, with those long fingers and that _mouth._

It was not the first time she had taken a customer home, and though she was not fully certain he was even interested in her, she did notice the way his eyes dipped down to the sharp v of her shirt. She did not have the biggest tits, to begin with, so she could get away with wearing no bra and lower cut shirts. 

Based on the smouldering glance he aimed her way, she guessed that he did not mind her small tits. Not at all. 

He did not need to know her real name, or that she spent hours spent in traffic to and from work each night. He certainly did not need to know that she owned a small collection of limp houseplants that were currently withering in her sun choked studio apartment. That woman and her boring name belonged to someone else. 

Jade owned a condo in the city. Manhattan maybe. Or trendy Brooklyn. She only worked here ironically, in an attempt to get “life experience” for a column she was writing. Jade lived above a cafe. Jade ate things that imitated cheese and meat - spongy loaves of tofu, loaded with enough fibre that she could shit on command. 

Kale. Yeah, Jade ate kale. By the fucking bucket full. 

Jade did not open her freezer every night to contemplate which flavour of frozen entrees she wanted to scarf down as she eyed the unpaid bills pinned to her fridge. Club soda - the fancy kind in the glass green bottles - were all that were stocked in her new shiny, stainless steel fridge. Not expired mayo and a water jug with a filter that no more clarified her water than a spaghetti strainer would. 

Jade was classy. Not upper Manhattan classy, but artfully composed and wistfully interesting. The kind of woman who had weird, one-off art pieces hanging around her condo, paintings that she would call _conversation pieces_ for all the guests she entertained at her kitschy apartment. Tonight, she was not the woman who had a photo of her dead grandmother hanging by a busted magnet on her old fridge, the aged appliance clicking like a lecherous old man snapping his fingers for his morning coffee. There was no foster care, no failing Julliard, no years spent in teeming aloneness, like she was missing some part of her she never knew she had to begin with. 

That was someone else's life. Tonight was hers. Or, more precisely, Jade's. 

_Oh Rey, you're a damned fool,_ she scolded herself. 

Soon, however, she decided she did not care for another round of self-deprecation. All of her piteous self-hatred could wait until tomorrow, when the inevitable hangover knocked a relentless tune against her skull. All her well-worn regret could slither back in then, like an old lover. The urge to escape it all, an impulse that was both urgent and over-eager in her sudden rush to delude herself that maybe, just for tonight, she could turn it all around, was stronger than it had ever been. 

There was something about this man’s eyes. They held false hopes like a fist clenching paper flowers. A neat little magic trick that she was suddenly all too happy to fall for. 

Rey leaned across the bar, so that she was only a foot away from his face, knowing full well that he could see generously down her top. She ignored a frat-bro dressed as Homelander when he demanded another beer. The other bartender could help him. 

She had better things to do, now. 

“You don’t look like you belong here at all.”

A small, knowing smirk tilted the man’s generous lips. 

“I get that a lot.”

“Really? Visit a lot of shitty bars on Halloween, dressed like that?” Men had such a thing for a British accent. Well, usually, anyway. 

But this man wasn’t tripping over himself, trying to impress her or offer her to buy her drinks in the hopes he could get her shitfaced enough that she would go home with him. He seemed perfectly comfortable exactly where he was, sitting in front of her, watching her watch him. In fact, he barely sipped his scotch - if at all. All of his attention was fixed on her, with almost unnerving intensity. She might have been creeped out if it was not for the softness of his mouth and the familiar candour of his eyes. 

“I’m looking for someone, actually.” 

Her stomach jolted with dread and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She read him completely wrong, apparently. 

“Oh. Well, good luck with that then.” 

Rey went to draw away, burning with dejection and sheepishness. What was she thinking anyway? It’s not like she could go waltzing out of here with him anyway. She was still on the clock. 

The man continued to regard her with that strangely calm intensity, gaze sweeping down her body before snapping up to her eyes. 

“I’ve found her,” he said before she could flit away from him. 

His hand came up and stole over where she was gripping the counter, stroking her lightly. Almost reverently. She nearly faltered, but something in his eyes held her captive. The dingy bar lights reflected against the black of his hair, seeming to suck all the light out of that corner of the bar. 

It was his eyes that drew all of her attention. They _glittered_ like darts of light underwater. 

Then, Rey blinked and realized she was mistaken. The man had brown eyes. Very normal, albeit warm brown eyes. Like spilt honey, but certainly not sparkling like an unknown precious stone. 

_I'm more trashed than I thought. How many shots have I done tonight?_ she mused, holding back a bubble of laughter only by biting her lips. Which looked absolutely ridiculous, she was sure, but she was committed now, morning-after regrets abound. Her black skirt was just low enough to cover her ass as she regarded him from over the counter, her face heating with equal parts inebriation and embarrassment as his smirk grew into that same crooked grin from before. His teeth were slightly crooked, his canines coming down to two sharp points that might have alarmed her had she been fully sober. 

Somehow, though, this all only added to his strange charm. 

“I'm Jade,” she said, breathless from the way he leaned over to grasp her hand. His palm was calloused like he worked with his hands. Pleasantly rough and not the doughy softness she was used to from rich college kids living off their parents’ trust funds. 

“What an unusual name,” the man replied, his voice deep and slightly artless in its mid-western inflection. But she liked his voice too. Not quite a drawl, but definitely not from the city. 

“Aren't you going to tell... me... your…?” she trailed off, her expression softening around the edges the longer she looked into his eyes. 

They were glittering again. 

She had been right before, even though such a thing should have been impossible. From this close, the effect could not be played off as a mere trick of the light or of her drink. Not that she cared, or minded. Things had grown fuzzy, more so than any martini could enable. 

Then, his grin widened until nearly all his white teeth were visible. He was beautiful, yet a turn of danger had replaced the warmth in his strange, glittering eyes. Not quite threatening just…

Ancient. Powerful. Undeniable. This man could command entire armies if he wanted to. 

Rey blinked at that odd, unbidden thought, but soon enough she was captivated by him again and forgot her sense of disquiet. 

“You know who I am, Rey,” he stated in a deep rumble. The mid-western inflection had faded away, to be replaced by an accent she could not name or place. Not quite British, but certainly not American either. Perhaps Danish, or something weird like... 

“I… do?” The world had turned to sludge in her new perception and he was at the centre of it. He and those shimmering eyes. “Your eyes… are… _beautiful_.”

“Aren't they?” he murmured conversationally. He leaned close to her until their faces were inches apart. “It is you. Isn’t it, _min kärlek_.”

He stood from the barstool and Rey just - looked up and _up_. He was massive. A fucking redwood of a man. Massive shoulders, towering height. The sounds of the bar completely faded away under his smouldering regard. She felt small, vulnerable. Like he could do anything he wanted to her right now, no matter that the bar was jam-packed. 

Then, he held out a hand to her. 

The counter was in the way. She would have to walk around it to take his hand, which she had every intention of doing but - 

Suddenly, she was right before him. The bar was far behind him and he was - _carrying_ her out the door. Bridal style, like they were in some cheesy black and white flick from the 1940s. Her head rested on his chest like he was a pillow and her eyes kept drooping shut, only for her to snap awake. He was taking her somewhere. Shouldn’t she be alarmed? Didn’t anyone notice him taking her from the bar?

But the thing was that she did not feel alarmed. Not even a little. 

“Who are you?” she murmured to him, right before her eyes slipped closed for good. 

“ _Vila, min kärlek. Jag är här._ ”

_Rest...ressssssst my love...I am here…_

And so she did. 

*

__

_I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight._

There were dreams Rey never told anyone about. Not her foster parents, not the countless psychiatrists and counsellors she had throughout the years. Not even the few friends she managed to make. 

Almost every night, he came to her. 

At first, when she was a child, the dreams were simple and tame. He would play with her. Sometimes tell her stories about where he came from and where he was now. Once he told her that she was special. She was _evinnerligen_ \- forever and eternal. The details of these dreams would often dissipate right after she woke up. 

So she started writing them down. A perplexing and at times terrifying dream diary. 

As she got older and discovered she was halfway decent at drawing, she began to depict what he looked like to her in her mind’s eye. A strong, sloping jaw. Beauty marks scattered across pale, creamy skin. A long, proud nose. Lips - his _lips_. Plump. Kissable. Long, luscious hair. Black as a raven’s wing. 

And his eyes. 

A pencil can only render so much detail. She could never quite get the eyes right. Never quite capture their shine and glimmer, their hopeful yearning. 

When she awoke to almost total darkness, save for a single black candle burning on the table next to the bed, she realized she _did_ know the man from the bar. The one who took her and brought her… here. 

But where was here, exactly?

There were no windows in this room. Just a sturdy bed with an old, mahogany headboard, a wardrobe in the corner that looks older than the coming of Christ, and the little nightstands. With its black, burning candle. 

“I imagine you have a lot of questions.”

Rey sat up on the bed, not quite in the full throes of terror and panic, but well on her way there. He stood in the corner like a specter; the man from the bar. He wore different clothes than earlier. A white shirt, open at the collar and loose around his waist. A pair of black leather pants. His feet bare. 

But everything was the same. 

“I dream of you.”

She had not meant for that to be the first thing out of her mouth. She should have been demanding to know where she was, she should be screaming her head off and trying to escape. Crying, begging for her life, but… She was not afraid. Not really. Just - cautious. Unnerved. Mystified. 

Perhaps she was still drunk. Or he drugged her. How could she be so calm right now?

“I have done nothing to you,” he said out loud, like he was answering her thoughts. 

Rey flinched, wariness stealing to the forefront once more, but he held up a hand as though to forestall her. 

“You have not been drugged. That feeling you have now - follow it. Because you are right, Rey.” He paused here, watching her expression but for what she did not know. 

“I don’t…” she began, but then in a flash of movement too fast for her to track, he was suddenly sitting on the bed in front of her. She cried out in surprise, but when his hand stole over hers, the exact same way as he did in the bar, she did not pull away. She couldn’t and it was not because he was keeping her in his grasp. 

It was an instinct. A feeling. She could not pull away from him no more than she could tear the lungs from her own body. 

“You have seen me before many times.” His tone darkened, but it was not aggressive. It was _needful_. Aching. His lips parted and - yes, she could see those sharp points quite clearly now. 

His fangs. 

He had them in her dreams too, though he never hurt her with them. Not once. 

“I don’t understand,” she repeated, but she sounded weak, even to herself. 

“Yes, you do. You’ve always known the truth. You’ve just hidden it away.”

“What - no. I can’t - I need to leave.”

Only this time, when she went to draw away, he held onto her fast. Like she was about to jump off a building and he was the last thing holding her to this world. He pulled her closer at the same time he leaned in, his lips brushing across her cheek and his breath tickling her skin. 

“For centuries, I have looked for you. Fate has mocked me for a long time, but now… you are here. Fully and completely. Just as you were, before.” He pulled back only enough so they could look into each other’s eyes. 

His were sparkling again, like precious stones in a river. She did not feel sleepy this time, when she looked into those twin stars, but her perception began to change. He was showing her - _everything_. She could smell roses and lavender, could hear people singing in French even though they were only two people here, could feel the warmth of a roaring fireplace at her back. Memories - so many of them. Washing together, tangling up until all she could see was his eyes above her. His smile, his hair through her fingers, his cock inside her thick and unyielding, his murmured words pressed against her throat, and then, a sharp pinprick, oozing and torpid with lust, moaning into his ear…

“Ben.” 

Rey did not realize she had spoken out loud until the word left her mouth. She blinked and then she was back in the present. Her hands were digging into his thick arms and as she looked up at him, there was no more glowing stars in his eyes. Only the purest of misery there. Loneliness, that was so much like her own, that sodden cross she has bared her entire life. 

And now she knew why. 

“ _Ben_ ,” she repeated, breathless and wild. 

He moaned then, the sound lodged into his throat and torn into a deep rasp before he pressed his lips against hers. And it was - god, it was like coming home after a long, long journey away. She sunk into him, letting him angle her face, letting him part her lips with his wicked tongue, taste buds sweeping her filthy and wanting. 

She keened his name into his lips and suddenly she was desperate. She tore at his shirt with her hands, buttons flying in every direction until she slid the soft material down his arms. Immediately, she swept her fingers across his chests, drawing her fingers over his nipples, just like he always liked for her - 

A low, deep growl reverberated up his chest, and then suddenly she was lying on her back. He was above her, pillaging her mouth with his tongue, making all sorts of deep, torrid sounds. She ran her fingernails up his back and across his shoulders. When his hands descended on her shirt and the material _ripped,_ she did not think to protest at all. 

He cupped her breasts before getting the shirt fully off of her, rolling her nipples, squeezing, pinching, rubbing until she was fucking insane with want. She rolled her hips up at the same time he bucked into her and when they moaned together at the way his hardness stroked against her wet, aching core, a hot bolt of lust went right through her. 

Rey reached down with trembling hands to undo his pants. 

He was far less careful. He practically tore her skirt right off of her and her underwear quickly followed. Soft, plying kisses descended down her throat and when he sucked a bruise against her jugular, her pulse pounding steadily, he made another deep sound. Unknown with lust and pure need. 

“Do it,” she rasped at him. 

His eyes sparkled up at her when she looked down at him but he only shook his head slowly. 

“Not yet. I need…” But what he needed, she did not hear, because her nipple was suddenly in his mouth. Everything whited out within her. She was pure pleasure, pure tingling want as her pussy clenched and her nipples ached with overstimulation. 

He moaned into her skin, sucking and nipping gently. 

Her fingers wound into his hair and she _pulled_ , earning her another growl. He went to descend further, but that was not what she needed right then. She was ready. She has been ready for over two hundred years. 

“No,” she murmured to him, voice strangled with tears and desperation. 

He stopped immediately, brow wrinkling with concern, but then she pulled him to her, leaning up against him to press her skin to his skin. To that cool expanse of marble and muscle. To the safe cradle of his embrace. 

“I can’t wait anymore. Can you?”

Ben made a pained sound above her, hiding his face in her hair and refusing to meet her gaze. She gently tugged on his hair and finally, he was looking at her again. 

She could tell he wanted it too. That he _needed_ it. 

“No more waiting,” she whispered to him. She canted her hips against him, against the whole thick length of him. The head of his cock caught against her entrance and almost against his will, he pressed back into her. 

Just a little. Just a taste of what they had before. 

“Please, Ben,” she begged him quietly, teardrops trailing across her cheeks. 

He groaned deeply, those sharp teeth winking out at her as he pressed inside her a little more, helped along by how _wet_ she was for him. His chest was tense with restraint, his eyes twinkling at her once more. Filled with unknowable desire. 

She canted her hips once more, making him slip deeper. She could feel his restraint slipping, his entire body trembling as he gained another inch. 

Pressing a kiss to his neck, she whispered into his ear, “Take me.”

A snarl ripped from his lips and then he _plunged_ into her, right to the hilt. Her tits bounced, her hands reaching down on instinct to press into his haunches, burrowing him deeper within her. All notion of rationality was gone within him. He was beast above her and when he withdrew to just the tip, only to slam his cock back into her, an animalistic growl filled the room. 

And she loved it. 

He leaned up on his forearms and then he was slamming his hips against hers, the muscles of his back and ass clenching. Skin slapped skin in a wet staccato. Her moans and whimpers were drowned out into his throat and chest, and then his fingers were digging into her thigh, yanking her leg up so that he could deeper, harder, more. 

He muttered things she did not understand in another language, groaning and panting above her. He fucked her hard and fast, chest rumbling continuously until she realized that he was _purring_ above her.

“Now,” she moaned, cunt clenching on the precipice of release. “Now, _mon cher._ ”

Rey did not speak French - at least in this life. But her soul did, she now understood. 

He grasped her jaw in his head, twisting her head to the side and running his tongue along her sweat with an impassioned groan. His hips continued to piston against hers, driving deep and hard. She could feel his hesitance - the same hesitance that cost them two centuries of happiness. Of being together, as one. 

“How many times have I died?” Rey whispered to him. His breath caught, his cock throbbed and just before she crested, she moaned into the shell of his ear, “Take me, Ben. Make me yours.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, her lips. Her throat. 

“This is the last time.”

And then, he bit her. 

  
  


_As I whisper in your ear,_

_I want to fucking tear you apart._


End file.
